


The Prodigal Son

by rainproof



Series: Earth-1796 [5]
Category: Iron Man (Movies), Iron Man - All Media Types, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Bondage, Codependency, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Explicit Sexual Content, Kidnapping, M/M, Parental Death, Possessive Behavior, Pre-Steve Rogers/Tony Stark, Pre-Tony Stark/Pepper Potts, References to Torture, Snark, Tychosis, Unhealthy Relationships, clinical sociopathy, underage tango
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-16
Updated: 2014-04-16
Packaged: 2018-01-18 20:22:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,235
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1441621
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rainproof/pseuds/rainproof
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Tony Stark is taken hostage in Afghanistan, Tiberius will leave no stone left unturned.</p><p> </p><p>This work is non-linear, smutty, and a direct prequel to <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/972937/chapters/1912625">1796 Broadway</a>, though it works as a standalone work as well.   </p><p>**Now unlocked for public consumption... enjoy!</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Prodigal Son

**Author's Note:**

> This work explores Tony and Ty's backstory - if you're reading 1796 Broadway, I suggest reading this after chapter 358, though as it is a true prequel it doesn't contain spoilers. <3
> 
> Our version of Tiberius Stone is heavily altered for MCU. His base characterization was taken from the Iron Man comics (NOT the Spiderman version) and Tea's [Dear Captain America](http://archiveofourown.org/works/963943/chapters/1889989)... assume the Rumiko/Dreamvision plots never happened.
> 
> Many, many thanks to my patient and supportive betas, Teaberryblue and GreenJudy!!

**2008, February**

The line clicked open after seven seconds, clear and sharp. The voice on the other end was gruff but familiar.

“Stone. Talk.”

“Ah, Jim. Lovely as it is to hear your voice, I was hoping for Tony Stark.”

Muttering in the background, clicking of keys, the quiet ping of triangulation software at work. Ty gave a jaunty little wave at the surveillance satellites currently zooming in on his location in Parc de Belleville. 

Rhodey’s voice was an absolute growl. “A lot of people are looking for Tony fucking Stark right now. Tell me something useful or get off my line.”

Tiberius Stone eased back on the bench. “Technically it’s _his_ line, Jim. It it gives me hope that you make this sound like a search and rescue operation rather than a murder investigation….”

He could almost hear Rhodey’s teeth grinding. “We have evidence that Stark is alive but being held by a terrorist cell. Three separate videos were sent to SI, his estate, and the armed forces.”

“Their demands?”

“You fucking know I’m not at liberty to share that kind of information – and even if I was, I wouldn’t share it with the likes of you. We’re done here.” Muffled words – a hand over the receiver. Ty frowned.

“Jim – Jim, Jim. You know I can help with this.”

“Like hell you’ll help with this.”

“Don’t be like that. I have resources you couldn’t possib—“

“I have a joint task force - thirty five of our country’s finest - working around the clock with state of the art surveillance systems. I have my own personal fucking SEAL team. I have the three most experienced hostage negotiators in the world. There is literally nothing you can give me, Stone, except a headache.”

“Yeah sure, it's not like I’m his childhood best friend and CEO of the largest telecommunications conglomerate in the free world. I’ve got a network of satellites in the thousands, uncounted contacts on the ground, money enough to double your guys on the ground. You can use me, Jim. You know you could use me.” 

Lingering silence.

“Is he in one piece? At least tell me that.”

“Relatively speaking.”

James Rhodes was scared. 

Sitting forward in his seat, Ty took a deep breath. “I’ll open my own search operations. I’ll--”

“I have a point of contact, I have a set of demands. You complicate this and get Tony killed, I _will_ throw your sorry ass in Gitmo so fast you forget your own fucking name. I can personally guarantee you the words “Miranda rights” won’t cross a pair of lips within five fucking miles of the cave we toss you into.”

The line clicked off. 

Ty frowned.

 

\----------

 

**2006, February**

_Tony’s skin was hot and damp, the icepack in his hand just a shade too frozen to be comfortable against Ty’s swollen cheekbone. His hands fell to the ass settled in his lap, thumbs rubbing circles into the curve of meat just beneath narrow hipbones._

_“I told you to check yourself.” The laughter in his voice was just this side of annoying. Ty licked his lips as a frigid droplet traced down his face; when it hit his neck Tony’s fingers were there, smudging it away and warming the skin. He opened his good eye to see Tony licking it from a fingertip, eyes half-lidded with drink._

_Sympathetic. Pliable. Soft._

_Ty pursed his lips. “I didn’t know who she was.”_

_“You did. And even if you weren’t lying through your teeth, she was wearing her engagement ring.”_

_“Like you’ve never fucked a married woman. It’s generally worth the trouble; they use it to test drive the freaky shit that hubby won't go for.”_

_He ground his hips upwards, fingers tensing, and Tony snorted in amusement. When his knees shifted fractionally further apart, Ty freed up a hand to begin unthreading his belt._

_“They’re not married yet, bugaboo.” Tony mouthed his brow, the fingers of his right hand stroking into the hair curled soft above Ty’s ear. “And the only thing that got fucked is your fucking face. One of these days Rhodey’s going to **actually** murder you....” _

_“I can’t believe anyone would agree to a lifetime of Jim Rhodes,” Tiberius groused as Tony brought his weight down, hips grinding in and outward against the taut stretch at the front Ty’s slacks. “Especially not someone that hot. Mmm.”_

_“You’re just mad she decked you,” Tony laughed – then paused to retrieve his tumbler of scotch from the back of the couch. “No one likes getting his ass kicked by a woman, let alone a woman in heels in front of half a dozen onlookers at a charity auction.”_

_“Hmph. What ever happened to sowing your wild oats, etc, etc…”_

_“She’s a hell of a woman,” Tony’s deft fingers parted his zipper, cold with the condensation dripping from the rim of his glass._

_“One thing's for sure - that’s the last time I donate towards a cancer cure.”_

_“ **That’ll** show her.”_

_When he finally kissed Ty his mouth was cold as the ice pack sliding off-center against his temple._

_Ty leaned into it, parting Tony’s lips and worrying them with his teeth, feeling a puff of silent laughter against his lower lip. He pressed the advantage, licking into that cool, smoky mouth and filling it with heat. Tony’s eyes fell shut, lashes dark against his cheeks, and the icepack dropped forgotten to the cushions._

 

\---------- 

 

**2008, February**

Tony was a gifted programmer; there was elegance in the functionality of his OS, the cluster-array and simple command prompts. Parsing his systems felt like crawling through his brain.

Elegant or otherwise, there wasn’t a security system in existence that could keep Tiberius Stone out. His backdoor into SI was eight years old; he’d long since worked his way through the access levels and constructed a ghost admin account. Pulling the 90-second video was literal child’s play – he only waited until he was back in the seventh arrondissement for the benefit of high-definition playback.

As the scene rolled he realized he shouldn’t have bothered - the video quality was painfully low. The figures visible in the frame were each wrapped in a mess of washed out, grit-encrusted clothing, sweating and glaring beneath fluorescent lights. Their victim was unrecognizable, save the tattered suit jacket. The fine material stood out in stark contrast, alien and out of place.

Tony’s head lolled on his shoulders as they ripped the bag off his face - blown pupils flickered wildly in the sharp light, his figure quivering tightly in a hunched, ugly posture. Bruised and drugged to the gills, blood dripping down his temple and spread brutally dark across his bandaged chest, Stark was calm – his shuttered eyes looked up, focused on the camera, stared fixedly.

The handle of Ty’s coffee mug snapped between his fingers. 

 

\----------

 

**1989, December**

_“You’re being ridiculous.”_

_Ty rolled onto his side in the tangled covers. Tony was long and warm stretched against him, his room too hot with the fire roaring away in the marble fireplace. He was 21 and back on Long Island for Christmas, Tony was 20 and mourning. “I’m not.”_

_He reached out to touch knots of warm muscle, fluid stretches wound taut across the skinny frame of still-narrow shoulders. Tony hadn't fully filled out his body, though he’d long since learned how to use it to his advantage._

_They’d fucked twice the night before. Tony'd cried himself to sleep._

_Ty worked his hands gently against flesh and bone, warm and comforting and alive._

_It was weird to think of a world devoid of Howard and Maria Stark. Tony’s reaction – fury, tears, sex, whiskey – was erratic and uncomfortable, but Ty preferred having him here on hand than knowing he’d be going through those flighty moods somewhere else, with someone else. When he’d told his parents Tony was coming home with him for Christmas they’d immediately assigned him the best guest suite in the house; Ty ignored it, walked Tony straight to his bed, and hadn’t let him leave._

_“We can’t. Even if I wanted to.”_

_“It might be legal eventually,” Ty shrugged, not caring. He began rubbing circles into Tony’s back, keeping the touches soft, the stimulus light. He imagined his own placid calmness leaking through his fingers and flooding Tony’s body, turning him pliant and peaceful. "We could draw up a contract. It's the same damn thing._

_Breath hitched under his hands, Tony’s pulse picking up. It wasn’t working. Irritation flared up in Ty’s body and he crushed his thumb forward, taking out his annoyance on a particularly tight knot beneath the left shoulder blade._

_“You know I can’t marry you,” Tony murmured, then groaned into the half-crushed cushion._

_“Why not? I could take care of you. I always take care of you,” Ty insisted, moving up to the back of his neck. One hand rubbed clockwise circles at his hairline, the other threaded through his hair, nails scraping against scalp. He felt Tony exhale beneath him, found his own breathing steady in response. "You don't have to be alone."_

_Tony was silent for a moment, his breathing growing steadier. “I’m moving to California. Also your parents would kill us.”_

_“They won't care," Ty shrugged. "I don't think they'd even be surprised."_

_In the quiet that followed, Ty knew Tony was thinking of his father. A set of photos from a party at MIT a few years back - Tony tangled up with another man - had nearly cost him his academic career when Howard threatened to pull his parental funding._

 _There was no doubt how the Stark family viewed this type of liaison - but the Stark family was no longer a problem._

_Ty always assumed Tony would welcome the freedom that came with Howard's death - in fact, from time to time he'd considered it in very serious detail. It left Tony in the perfect position - sympathetic, obscenely wealthy, brilliant, independent, in control of a major multinational corporation. Sure, there was Stane and the Board to deal with, but SI would have been sent into a tailspin at Howard's death if it weren't for the brilliant wunderkind currently spread beneath him. Tony was was future, Howard was the past._

_"I just bought a house in Milan. You could come with me instead.” He leaned in and began dropping kisses along the paths his hands had traced. Tony had beautiful skin, darker than his, thoroughly touchable. “I don’t give a shit about my parents, or what they think.”_

_Tension flooded Tony’s figure - shit. Ty considered backpedaling but it wasn’t really worth the effort – Tony would see through the lie, anyway._

_“Maybe you should,” Tony said, hoarsely._

_He’d buried his two days earlier. Oops._

_“Besides, SI needs me. I’m going to go into R &D, work in the California labs. I want to be as far as humanly fucking possible away from this miserable fucking urine-soaked winter wasteland.”_

_“Milan is further from New York than the west coast.” Ty kissed down his spine to the curved divot between sacrum and ass, feeling Tony's sharp inhale. He toyed with idea of moving his lips lower, spreading Tony's legs and pinning him to the sheets with the force of his mouth and tongue alone, but discarded the thought just as quickly. It would be too hard to talk with his mouth full._

 _Instead he sucked a pointed bruise just over his left ass-cheek. “There's no need to rush. You told me Uncle Obie is giving you a few years to finish your second doctorate.”_

_Tony’s face mashed into the cushions as he exhaled shakily, muffling his words. “I’m not finishing it. I don’t give a shit about doctorates; I don't need some fucking college board to rubber stamp my fucking genius. I’ve filed nineteen patent applications in the past two years alone.”_

_“Exactly. You can work in Milan. I’ll buy you a lab.” He sank his teeth almost-gently into the swell of ass beneath his hands, sweat on his tongue._

_“You can’t fucking fix this by buying me a lab.”_

_“Well, it couldn’t hurt, right?” Ty couldn't keep the shiver of laughter out of his voice; Tony could be so dramatic, sometimes._

_He'd just decided to go down on him when Tony shuddered away and sat up, rubbing his goose fleshed arms with his palms. Ty pulled his hands back uncertainly, watching Tony's face shutter and scroll through scratchy expressions, like a needle pulled sideways across an album._

_“I just want you to know,” Ty promised, even as he moved away. “No matter what you decide to do now... I’ll never leave you.”_

_Tony put on his clothes and poured himself a drink._

 

\----------

 

**2008, February**

“When the cat is away, the mice come out to play,” JARVIS observed, voice flat and unamused. “Is there something I can help you with, Mr. Stone?”

“I’m looking for Tony,” Ty said, simply.

He’d flown from Paris to LA that morning; Pepper Potts still wasn’t returning his calls.

“You and 83% of my available RAM,” the computer observed. 

There was a dry humor underpinning that constructed personality that was thoroughly Tony Stark on his best days. Ty smiled and continued his idle exploration of Tony’s private project files on the Jericho missile. If there was enough of Tony in the system, perhaps...

“I’m afraid I’ll have to eject you from the system, Mr. Stone. Regardless of the unique nature of your … friendship with Mr. Stark.”

“If you really meant to do that, you’d have done so in lieu of striking up a conversation,” Ty shrugged. “You know I have no actual interest in this bullshit – I’ve never agreed with Tony’s line of work.”

“Still –”

“Let me guess – genius billionaire supercomputer’s getting a little frustrated with Rhodey’s pet task force? I can’t imagine they value the input of a piece of software, even one with Tony's name on it. They have no idea how beyond them you actually are.”

Silence. Excellent.

“They don’t really want the money – they must know SI would never pay out for this. Which means they want something else, have some other reason for going after him. While I personally would consider kidnapping Tony Stark just to watch him squirm under hospital-grade lighting I expect that’s a fairly unusual motivation. They've kept him alive, which means they need his talents. They want him to build. So... is there anything about the Jericho I need to know?”

When JARVIS spoke again Ty knew he’d found his ally. “The Jericho missiles require a unique quantity of pure palladium to function appropriately. At present, I am in the process of sourcing every palladium purchase of significant size in the last three months.”

“Good. Where else can palladium be found?”

“It could potentially be pulled from other scrapped SI devices; sir has used a palladium blend in seven other weapon designs. But that type of extraction would take a significant amount of time, even for someone of Mr. Stark's abilities.”

Ty tapped a finger against the keyboard, thoughtfully. “Hmm. I want to make sure that’s time these rotten bastards don’t have.”

“I feel exactly the same way, sir.”

 

\----------

 

**2001, September**

_Soft light filtered in past the gauzy curtains – Tony lay face-down in a mass of pillows, two naked, dark-haired women tangled in the sheets surrounding him. He’d fallen asleep in the pavilion by the pool – the fucking pavilion of all places, cool, breezy, overlooking the sea. The wind blew the gauzy curtains into ribbons, coiling and uncoiling over his head with soft snaps. The spread of his body looked like the cover of a bodice-ripping romance novel._

_Ty eased himself onto the bed, ignoring the girls entirely._

_He kissed Tony’s face, eyes, throat – when he finally stirred, Tiberius flopped into the crevice between him and one of the women, trailing fingers over his abdomen._

_Tony’s eyes squinted open, dark in the morning light. “Nngh… hey, baby. What day is it?”_

_“Today,” Tiberius said, and kissed him._

_Tony's nose wrinkled, his eyes half-lidded in the morning light. “Mmmph. I mean it.”_

_“The eighth.”_

_That opened his eyes more fully, his lazy expression soft and open. “You’re leaving me.”_

_“Necessity, I’m afraid…” Ty stroked his fingers along the nail-tracks to the left of Tony’s navel. “Have fun last night?_

_Tony pulled a face and stretched a bone-popping stretch, planes of his stomach rippling in the half-light. “Don’t remember.”_

_“That’s a waste.”_

_“Is that why you’re up so early? Kissing me goodbye?”_

_“Something like that.”_

_Tony pulled him down and Tiberius let him._

_“Stay a little longer,” he purred between kisses, allowing Ty to worship the junction of ear and neck, throat and shoulder. “Another week. At least.”_

_“You know I can’t,” Ty nosed closer, breathing in the smell of him. One of the girls must have been wearing perfume – there was an odd sweetness clinging to the nape of his neck. “First executive producer gig, a new office in the North Tower. Which I hate. It’s shitty in the afternoons, sun’s right in your eyes.”_

_“Poor baby,” Tony laughed. Ty liked the way he said his Ps and Bs, lips pursed and full. He kissed them again._

_“I really can’t. My parents—“_

_“Are used to you extending your vacations for me. They think we’re secretly dating,” Tony laughed, trailing the fingers of one hand beneath Ty’s shirt. They skated up his side, thumb swiping coyly at a nipple._

_“You did run away to Bali with me,” Ty observed, mouth twitching indulgently at the corners._

_Tony snorted and ruffled his hair with the other hand. “I’d run away to Bali with anyone.”_

_“Slut.”_

_“You love it,” Tony licked his way into Ty’s mouth._

_Ty pushed back the flight._

 

\----------

 

**2008, March**

 

This type of benefit gala was a dime a dozen – Tiberius Stone had never given two shits about multiple sclerosis, but as an SI-backed cause there were bound to be a few high-dollar faces in the crowd. Celebrity was a sure currency in California with a trading value more reliable than the recently fluctuating US dollar. 

When Tiberius waltzed down the red carpet at the Mandarin Oriental flanked by a bevy of reporters from five of the eighteen stations under the Viastone umbrella, not a soul bothered scanning the invite-list. 

They even handed over a swag-bag. Hah.

He was right, too. No Pepper Potts hovering at the edges of his vision, but there _were_ a handful of board members, including the man at the top of the list – Obadiah Stane.

In the three and a half weeks since the kidnapping and (some claimed, though Ty was careful not to let such vicious rumor propagate unduly) death of Tony Stark, Obadiah Stane had logged more hours talking shop on national television than he had in the previous two years combined. Through grim assurances that the company would be stable financially and no major release schedules would be postponed due to unfortunate events in the personal life of their majority shareholder, he’d managed to slip in plugs for everything from SI’s upcoming foray into tablet computers to the smartfiber currently being woven into military-grade broadcloth.

Business, business, business. Ty upped the wattage on his smile, rounded into the conversation and clapped a hand on Obadiah’s shoulder.

“There’s the man of the hour. Mr. Stane,” a hand on the shoulder, a bright but purposeful grin, and a wink for the demure young thing (a stand-in for the now ex-wife) at his side settled Ty into the conversation. The reporters at Ty’s elbow hovered, pencils and paper in hand, glued to him – as he requested – until he freed them of their obligation and left them to their own devices.

“Is that – it is, I thought it was you. _Obadiah._ My, but it’s been a _long_ time.”

“...if it isn’t little Ty Stone,” Obadiah muttered as flashbulbs popped. “My, how you’ve grown.”

Obadiah Stane was a broad, burly man – tall as Tiberius and twice as wide, with a barrel chest and thick-set frame. The wiry beard was an off-and-on feature of his profile – once neatly trimmed it was now rather unkempt, longer than Ty could ever remember seeing it. Stress? Concern? Distraction?

He made sure to smile his most pleasant smile - his old man used to call it the anchorman smile. There was something in the shift of Obadiah’s shoulders that he didn’t trust - but then, he’d never liked the man’s predatory expressions and gruff humors. 

Ty had noticed an edge of lust to his looks on more than one occasion, so he certainly fell into the category of ‘secretly gay’, despite having a son a few years younger than Ty and Tony. The kid lacked the family business sense entirely, falling into the category of bright-yet-zealously-fixated; he knew they hadn’t spoken since Stane’s divorce. 

Ty had always figured Zeke’s failures were what led Obadiah to cling so tightly to Tony Stark.

Now he wondered.

Yes - Obadiah’s smile was completely false. His dark eyes betrayed the irritation at being cornered – and an understanding of Ty’s perfect trap. Would he give Ty the cold shoulder and take the publicity hit? No way to tell with someone like him.

“I don’t recall seeing your name on the guest list, Tiberius. Are you here on the arm of some pretty young thing?”

Ty laughed. “I’m afraid not – my date of choice ran off on a little unplanned vacation on the other side of the world. And speaking of, I’m having a hard time finding anyone at SI willing to be forthcoming with details on that matter.”

Obadiah’s left cheek twitched slightly, irritation flashing across his face. “This is a party, Tiberius. I’m as anxious as anyone on Tony’s behalf, but this is no place for that kind of talk.”

“You’ll forgive me if I fail to see any topics surpassing the subject of the safety and security of our missing friend,” Ty slung an arm around Obie’s back and allowed for another set of photographs, quirking a quizzical brow as the flashbulbs popped.

“What are you doing here? Another expose on the tragic cruelty of hollow-point bullets? Maybe the carcinogenic nature of napalm? You know our lawyers have their teeth in one of your junior reporters in New York for that piece on how the world is better off without the brain of Tony Stark. Yellow journalism, absolutely despicable.”

The grip relaxed and slid down to his elbow. Obie leaned in close, tension in his tone. The vein in his cheek was trembling with a quick, sharp pulse.

“I’m serious, boy. Your parents may have been ‘great American heroes,’ but they wouldn’t been seen in the same building as the top dogs of Stark Industries – you should take a page out of their books and stay the hell away.”

Ty very carefully unhooked Obadiah’s fingers from his arm, straightening his cufflink. “You know Tony and I don't allow business to come between us. Those privileges are reserved for the occasional supermodel.”

Flash, flash, ice clinking, they were close enough that Ty could hear the disgusted noise in the back of Obadiah’s throat. “Of course – you two, always the best of friends. It’s almost enough to make you forget who slapped Tony with that ridiculous ‘merchant of death’ moniker.”

“Not _exactly_ my words.” With Obadiah in hand, Tiberius waved away the photographers and tipped his head thoughtfully, studying the man in front of him. “I expect you’re hoping this madness will blow over, the stock prices will level out, you go on working and the public forgets the ‘American Patriot’ you won’t pay to retrieve…”

Stane actually laughed, a sharp, hard sound. “What else could be expected? SI believes in strength, freedom, and integrity.”

Ty laughed, too. “Well, you should know I won’t let this story die until Tony is standing next to me. I’ll publish every step, every denial, every minute of every ransom call – every scrap of information I can get my hands on. I will never let the public forget where you’ve left him.”

At that Obadiah leaned in, smile lazy and kind as though he were speaking to a slow child. “Publicizing where we’ve been searching – or where we’re planning to continue searching – will only benefit the enemy, Stone. You’ll get him killed.”

“I’ll find him,” Ty said with absolute certainty.

“You? When the combined forces of the American military can’t draw these cowards out of their caves? Please.” Obadiah drained the last of his drink. “It doesn’t matter what you publicize. I’m not about to shell out the kind of money these people are looking for – that’s called letting the terrorists win, and it’s anti-American. Tony had conviction, he was well aware of the risks – changing the world generally earns you enemies, not friends.”

“He has me,” Ty watched Stane drop his empty glass on a passing tray. “How do you think he feels about those convictions now that he’s bleeding and strapped to a chair somewhere? What else do you think they’re going to do with him?”

Obadiah twitched. “You—“

“Saw the video.”

A stretch of silence as the hand at his elbow wavered and dropped – huh. There was a moment of uncertainty there, before Stane collected himself and blustered on – a soft sort of moment that Ty couldn’t quite define. “Oh for fuck’s sake – you must realize why that footage can’t be published.”

“Perhaps you should be utilizing the media differently,” Ty suggested, tone light. “Throw a reward out there for anyone with information on his whereabouts – let’s generate some sympathy, shock and humble the crowd, humanize our Merchant of Death. It’s been almost a month – sooner or later people are going to notice that you’re here sipping gin and tonics at the Mandarin Oriental instead of putting your back into finding your long lost boss. What will that say for the convictions of Stark Industries?”

“Tony Stark is not my boss,” Stane growled.

“Of course,” Ty waved his fingers dismissively. It was irritating, the way Stane thought there was any substance to Stark Industries without Tony -- the company would have died years ago had it not learned to subsist entirely on Tony Stark’s talents, consuming his brilliant ideas like a leech drawing blood. “Right now you do have a sympathetic angle, I’ll grant you that. Everyone knows your ‘best friend’ and former partner’s son is the cash-cow that keeps SI’s motherly milk flowing, tragically scooped away in his prime … but it really would be awful if someone were to point out how much time you spend talking about products when being interviewed about the welfare of a man you once referred to as your second son.”

Obadiah’s laugh was brittle. “Wouldn’t that be unfortunate. You know, Mr. Stone, we’ve written several letters to your station, requesting that you reduce the amount of coverage on the topic of Tony Stark. I suppose I should take this opportunity to clarify my request.”

Ty folded his hands together, tapping his thumb against the meat of his palm. “If you must. I warn you – like Stark Industries, I don’t respond well to threats.”

“I would never threaten you, Tiberius. In fact,” Stane’s smile was brittle, “I’d love to buy you a drink.”

With that, Obadiah returned the just-too-heavy shoulder-pat, pressing hard enough to tip Ty away from the press crew and towards the bar.

They walked together silently. Ty figured he was regrouping.

“Gin and tonic,” Obadiah ordered, tapping twenty into the tip jar.

“Glenrothes, neat,” Ty ordered, adding a fifty.

“You want information on Tony – well. How about this. I’ll share with you the details of the investigation if you’ll agree to dial back the media blitz. No more “Stark Sightings”, daily updates or ‘kidnapped kingpin’ bullshit, just genuine-if-limited coverage when new information comes forth.”

Ty made a considering face, then leaned in. “That I can do,” he lied, “provided you have new information for me.”

“New?” Stane snorted.

“I’ve spent the last two weeks producing a facial recognition software and pairing it with satellite arrays so sensitive their cameras can pick up your untied shoelace,” Tiberius shrugged. “I don’t trust the military. I don’t trust you, either.”

Obadiah Stane stared at him heavily as his gin and tonic slid towards him over the bar. “I’m sure you’re not suggesting we at SI are doing anything less than our utmost to locate and return Tony to safety.”

“I didn’t say anything about SI,” Ty shrugged.

Stane’s upper lip curled. “Do you want the information or not? Deal expires the minute I walk away.”

“Of course I do,” Ty sniffed, sipping his scotch.

 

\----------

 

**2001, Christmas**

_Breath huffed and sucked wetly past the gag, spit glistening wet at the corner of Tony’s stretched mouth. His face was screwed up intensely, the familiar wrinkle of discomfort between his brow alternately deepening and smoothing as he shuddered, trying to accommodate the twitching device deep within him. Trussed on the floor in a rumpled Armani suit, shirt half-rucked up by the friction of the rug, hair sticking sweat-slick against his forehead –_

_Fucking gorgeous._

_Ty poured himself a drink as the world’s seventh wealthiest man ground himself in plaintive hitches against the thick pile of his carpet, perfect mouth too full to beg._

 

\----------

 

 **2008, March**

Pepper Potts was anxious – hair done tightly in an upswept bun, faint scoops of blue only partially tempered by concealer shadowing her eyes. She hadn’t opened her menu, but toyed idly with the pages as she stared out the window, nails tap-tap-tapping against the table in thought.

Ty dropped his jacket over the back of his chair and took a seat, taking pleasure in the way her eyes widened, then narrowed in furious astonishment.

She slammed the menu down with a resounding smack. “That’s _it._ I’m unplugging JARVIS.”

“Don’t be like that, Ms. Potts – he’s only doing what’s best for Tony. Have a seat. Order a drink.” Ty stretched, using the breadth of his shoulders to his advantage. He might be an antisocial programmer used to long nights slouched in expensive PJs in front of glowing screens, but he’d be damned if he wasn’t an antisocial programmer with a tight fitness regimen. There was no sense in becoming a stereotype.

“If you actually think I’m going to have lunch with you, you’re—“

“I’m looking for Tony.”

“So is half of the country, Mr. Stone. Now where's my damn coat...”

“No,” Tiberius clarified. “I’m _looking_ for Tony. I have three ten man teams and seven satellites dedicated to the task at present.”

The server appeared, Pepper's coat in hand. Ty rolled his eyes. “We need a bottle of the Araujo Bordeaux blend, two glasses – and we’ll start with the oysters, please.”

Pepper’s lips pursed tightly, the flush to her face making her freckles stand out like sharp constellations. She’d known Tony for years now, and even Ty had to admit she’d served his purposes with a dedication unusual in the hired help. She’d been the first person JARVIS had suggested Ty approach for information, but Obadiah – oddly – had been easier to reach.

Pepper had been searching with a whole-hearted dedication that Ty could respect, but she wouldn’t want the help – he figured she didn’t want to share the credit for bringing Tony out alive.

Or maybe that hesitation had another source – she might want more from him than just his help.

It was always hard to tell with those high strung types. Ty smiled.

Pepper didn’t - but she waved the confused waiter away, coat and all.

“It’s been six weeks and Rhodes has nothing for you. You’re getting desperate.”

She worried her lower lip between her teeth. “It’s just – we’re searching for a needle in a haystack. It’s such a desolate environment, it all just looks the same. Cut the bullshit nice-guy act and tell me straight - do you have something that Rhodey doesn’t have?”

“Pepper,” Ty pressed a hand to his lapel. “I’m shocked. Have I ever been anything but good to your beloved bossman?”

“Two thousand and four,” Pepper said, firmly.

Sigh. “Pepper, we all know that was a mistake. Tony’s fine, he didn’t even scar—“

“He’s _not!_ fine!” Pepper declared, her voice spiraling upwards. “He’s been kidnapped by terrorists who just threatened to cut off his fingers and mail them back to the States one by one!”

“They won’t cut off his fingers,” Ty had some measure of confidence in that, at least. “If you had Tony Stark as a hostage, would you lock him up somewhere and leave him to rot? Or would you—when you realized you were unlikely to make your money through the ransom his pigheaded “friends” are refusing to pay—find another way to take advantage of his value?”

Pepper’s nostril flared. “You know why they’re not paying the ransom.”

“I do. But you don’t.”

“Give into one set of demands and you paint a target on the back of his head,” Pepper said, tightly. “We might get Tony back, but anyone out there interested in making a quick buck might—“

“Do you really think that?” Ty asked, idly. It was so strange, the difference between what people said and what people meant. Pepper ignored the waiter as he set a long-stemmed glass at her fingertips.

“I do.”

“Has it occurred to you that if Tony Stark dies, Obadiah Stane has the first option on his shares of SI?”

“I—“

“And that Tony’s identity means nothing to the military beyond his role as defense contractor; choosing to pay would show favoritism, they’d have to turn around and explain to all the mommies and daddies of offed servicemen why Tony Stark got pulled out and their babies were left to –”

“You’re a disgusting sack of shit,” Pepper snapped.

“I’ll pay the ransom.”

 _That_ wasn’t what she’d expected him to say -- the shock of her mouth falling open was quietly hilarious. Ty leaned forward and raised his glass.

“Mr. Stone – they’re escalating the price twice a week. It’s at twenty million dollars.”

“Do you think I care?” What was money next to Tony Stark?

“You’re obsessed.”

“No,” Ty said, clearly. “I’m _dedicated_. I’m Tony’s oldest friend – and unlike the rest of you, I care enough to do what needs doing. I _will_ get him back.”

“You talk about him like he’s a fancy pet kept in a fancy cage,” Pepper tasted her wine, wrinkled her nose. “You must realize he doesn’t love you...”

“Irrelevant.”

“The minute he gets out of that fucking country I’m hitting you a dozen restraining orders. I don’t care if you haul him out yourself, you can’t go around threatening people—“

“So you did talk to Stane,” Tiberius sighed. “You could have told me that. I’d have ordered a better wine.”

“I don’t care about the wine!”

“Do you care about the ransom?”

She rubbed at her lower lip in a gesture he was certain she’d picked up from Stark himself. “I can’t take that kind of money from you, Ty. You never give anything away—I have no idea what you want in return, but I know it’s too much.”

She bit the inside of her cheek and pushed the wine away. “It’s always too much with you.”

 

\----------

 

**1985, May**

 

_“Start…. Left, right… slow, slow, quick quick quick, slow, slow, quick, qui---fuck!”_

_Ty burst with laughter and tipped his head back for a moment, heart oddly light. Tony was growing out his hair Bon Jovi style; the feathery mass of dark, shaggy strands fell into his eyes, lending him a fluffy, tousled look. When he frowned it reminded Ty of a puppy still learning how to growl._

_Tony had always been fit, but never been particularly light on his feet – years behind their classmates in development, he was growing far too fast to keep up with his body and hardly what any reasonable person would categorize as graceful._

_He **was** growing, though. That baby face was melting at the edges, revealing an elegant jaw that framed a mouth built for cocky half-smiles._

_Crowned prom king two weeks before his 15th birthday despite his knobby knees and sharp, sarcastic wit. Already accepted at MIT. Summer internships at SI R &D from the age of ten._

_Ty had been in the running for the prom king title, of course. He didn’t mind losing to Tony on that front – he’d asked out the three top candidates for queen just in case, determined to accompany one of them to the dance. Just last week he'd narrowed down the field when the margins of the vote were known._

_(Not that Tony knew he’d won. Ty kept that piece of information to himself.)_

_“Again,” Ty instructed. “Seriously, I won’t be seen in public with a king who can’t dance. Come on, you were tangoing fine when we were twelve.”_

_“Please, you know I’ll never win… and those fucking dance classes were years ago!”_

_Tony repositioned his feet and sighed. Ty stepped close against him, nudging his left foot out for a better starting position. He could feel the heat of Tony's body through the thin fabric of their slacks._

_“Dancing is a waste of time. You’ll see - someday I’ll build robots to tango **for** me.”_

_That was why people preferred Tony, Ty knew. That wry humor, undisguised by pretense or a care for social niceties -- he was brilliant and built of sharp edges beneath baby fat, 100% genuine._

_He looked at Tony, whose brows pinched at the center. “Ty? What are you --”_

_And kissed him._

_It was nothing more than an impulse that made him do it, but once he started he found that he didn't want to stop. Tony would be alright with it - after all, Ty generally knew what Tony wanted before he did._

_The only real question was - what did Tony think Tony wanted? Ty kissed him with conviction, pouring his limited expertise into the move, feeling the tell-tale hitch of breath that meant his partner was hooked, memorizing that taste of his lips and the feel of his tongue. Their bodies pressed closer, his hands twitching at Ty's hips._

_Tony let his mouth be pried open, a little half noise of protest escaping as Ty fell into him, hands settling on those narrow shoulders. They kissed for what felt like ages until Tony came back to himself and began tugging at Ty’s wrists feebly. When he broke the connection with a tender press of lips to the corner of Tony's half open mouth, electricity crackled between them._

_"What the hell are you doing?” Tony gasped, blood flooding his face. He was adorable when flustered; particularly when he didn't want to be. Ty pressed their foreheads together for a moment, breath quick in his throat._

_"What do you think I'm doing?" he asked, patiently, wanting to kiss him again. The edges of white surrounding Tony's pupils suggested that it wasn't likely to happen… so he let Tony pull away._

_"You can't - just go around kissing people like that, Ty, fuck, what is someone had seen us?” Tony's had swiveled towards the door to the gym._

_It was entirely dark. Strictly speaking they shouldn't have been there at all, but given Tony's dance related anxiety a wrist slap over breaking curfew seemed less humiliating than three minutes of embarrassment on the dance floor in front of the entire school._

_“I'm not kissing people," Ty let his shoulders roll in a shrug. "I'm kissing you."_

_"That's not -" Tony started. "I'm not gay."_

_"Is that why you're always checking me out in the locker room?” Ty rolled his eyes. "Relax, jellybean."_

_"Kind of hard not to see naked dudes in a locker room," Tony muttered, not making eye contact._

_"Hard is right," Ty agreed. Tony jerked away and slammed a hand down against the tape deck's stop button._

_"Don't freak out or anything. I'm not gay, either," Ty shrugged. "I just wanted to be the only guy in school to score with homecoming Queen AND King. "_

_"That's disgusting."_

_"Then why did you kiss me back? If you can call that a kiss.“_

_Tony made a noise in the back of his throat that went straight to Ty's gut. He stepped forward, having meant the words as a challenge, but Tony immediately stepped back._

_"I should go," Tony said, anxiously, stepping away to retrieve the uniform jacket he’d shucked to the floor. His retreating footsteps were_ quick quick quick _as he left Ty standing in the empty, silent gym._

Almost a year later, sitting on the back porch of the Pika house in Cambridge, Tony crushed a cigarette into the arm of his deck chair, leaned over, and kissed Ty back. 

 

\-----------

 

**2008, May**

“Zoom in, JARVIS.”

The cameras obediently obeyed, though the thick black burnt-rubber smoke rendered the source of the fire nearly invisible. Another series of explosions rattled the barren cliffs. 

"Crate sizes visible on satellite feeds and the size/trajectory of explosions suggests an arms cache of arms least seventeen hundred pieces, " JARVIS observed, a hint of disapproval in his voice. “Many of these appear to be of Stark Industries make.”

Ty's heart knocked about in his chest, hollow and thudding. The chain-reaction of explosions across his monitors was tremendous. In places the volume of the blasts started landslides, the trickle of pebbles growing into house-sized boulders that poured down the cliffs into the inferno beneath.

"Signs of life in the vicinity?“

“None discernable. "

"Rewind the right display feed back to the beginning. "

The right-hand monitor reverted back into a silent landscape shimmering with heat, steep clouds buttressed by piles of sand the size of small buildings. If you squinted you could just make it the black spots that were sentries pacing at the apex of the canyon walls. 

Men began scrambling suddenly, running to and fro in confusion, quickly forming a makeshift perimeter and advancing on the nearly invisible mouth of a cave. 

Then came the first explosion, a gout of flame blasting from the cave mouth, painting the earth and stones black with heat. Ty could imagine the panicked screams, the acrid taste of dust and ash as people tugged cloth up and over their noses, eyes watering. The flames spat forth again and this time caught the edge of a tethered tarp alight - fire began to spread in earnest and the line of militia broke and scattered amidst the towering pillars of flame, every man for himself. 

Ty paused the footage just as the mouth of the cave was obscured by smoke. "zoom." 

JARVIS zoomed, and zoomed, and - "There. Stop." 

He could see a metal hand, unmistakable. It was crudely rendered, welded in thick broad seams, but articulated with meticulous precision.

Tony Stark was alive. 

“Forward. Forw-- _stop_ , stop there, stop.” Fire filled the valley like mushrooms after rain, escalating in seconds. Then -- there it was, right there. A single bright comet, shooting upwards in sharp relief to the smokey background, trajectory carefully angled towards the top of the canyon walls. 

Unnatural. Manmade.

Ty stood so quickly the chair beneath him clattered to the floor. “Call Colonel Rhodes,” he ordered, chest tight. “Now.”

 

\----------

 

**1996, May**

_He loved the weight of Tony’s body, the view afforded as he licked his way down, the way that trim jaw and filthy mouth fell open exposing bare expanses of throat when he pressed forward, half-swallowing and relaxing until his nose pressed up against the sweat and musk of dark, curled hair._

_“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Tony punctuated each exhalation with a whimper, Ty groaning in return. Tony filled his senses, his mouth and nose, his ears, his field of vision - he could taste his pulse, this close, feel his muscles trembling against his cheek._

_Taking Tony apart with his tongue and teeth was pure ownership. It was distillation, working him down to the purest form a metal could be, taking in hand every creation, cruel or wondrous, every carefully soldered connection those clenching, fisting hands had borne and devouring it all._

_“You – oh god, oh – let me fuck your mouth, your gorgeous mouth, how do — I fucking, ah, ah, ha, hate you —“_

_“Say my name,” Ty pulled away and croaked hoarsely into the junction of thigh and abdomen, punctuating his demand with a nip that left Tony convulsing with need._

_“Ty,” Tony obeyed. “Ty, Ty, oh god, Ty-”_

_Then nothing more, insensible moans, salt and bitter viscous against his tongue—and Tony was coming down his throat, body doubling against his head with fingers locked too-tight in his hair, Ty groaning and swallowing and perfection, perfection, perfection._

 

\----------

 

**2008, May**

“I had my eyes opened,” said the man hunkered down against the podium at his own press conference. “I came to realize that I have more to offer this world than just making things that blow up. And that is why, effective immediately, I am shutting down the weapons manufacturing division of Stark International until such a time as I can decide what the future of the company will be…”

The media blitz was insane - phones ringing off the hook, ratings through the roofs, three separate injunctions against seven stations. Tiberius Stone ordered full coverage, references at least once every 45 minutes as stocks plummeted. 

Stane desperately clawed together a cover story, but Ty wouldn’t let it rest - iron monger turned humanitarian, demanding accountability, severing military ties. He’d wanted this for years - and here it was, unfolding on his own stations.

He called. 

And called. 

And called.

‘PTSD’, said anonymous SI reps, quoted in curious articles. Traumatic injury, speculated others on daytime talk shows. Pepper’s mobile number changed. JARVIS locked him out.

Ty shifted the spin, applied pressure to different points. Overnight he allowed his target-hungry gossip fiends to questioned Stark’s stability, judgement, intelligence. When the SI board of director filed their injunction and opened court proceedings, Tiberius had every business section of every paper, blog or aggregate run the headline over a story full of phrases like “unsound mind,” “business ethics,” and “plague of job loss.”

He called, and called, and finally - three and a half weeks later -- Tony picked up.

“Tiberius”

“Tony,” he breathed, closing his eyes.

“What the fuck are you doing?” 

“Trying to get ahold of you, cantaloupe. You know how I hate to be ignored.”

“In case you didn’t notice I’ve been a little fucking busy,” Tony snapped, hard and furious. “You know, what with getting assaulted, kidnapped, tortured, rescued and bent over a barrel by your fucking media agents. What the fuck are you doing, publishing this fucking garbage?”

“Trying to get your attention.” 

“Well, you fucking have it. Talk. Because if I don’t hear something reasonable in the next fifteen seconds, I’m letting Pepper file the eight fucking restraining orders she has drafted.”

“You let her draft eight restraining orders?” Ty blinked. 

“Hell yes I did, after the shit you’re publishing? I thought you of all people would be ecstatic to hear I'm pulling SI out of the arms race, stock drop be damned. An ‘it’s about fucking time’ or two I would get, but this bullshit? You’re fucking undermining me at every turn. The board’s gone ballistic, they're filing injunctions - a little good press could save my _ass._ ”

"I--"

"Every time, you do this. Every. Fucking. Time. You take our private issues and turn them into a media shitstorm just for fucking giggles. You did it in 89, you did it in 95, you -- I'm so sick of your bullshit, Ty. Can't you back me up for once in your fucking life? Give me the benefit of the fucking doubt?"

Tony wasn’t laughing the way he should; his voice had grown a dark, bitter spine.

“You weren’t returning my calls.”

There was a moment of perfect silence. Ty’s fingers tightened fractionally around his smartphone, thinking of the video - thinking of Tony's hollow eyes staring through the camera. Should he say more? Should he--

“Tony?”

“We’re done here,” Tony said, finality in his tone. 

The line went dead.

 

\----------

 

 **2008, January**

_They always kissed when Tony was in charge._

_Ty shifted on his back, split open from root to tip, and felt Tony move within him. Knowingly, he bore down and watched the flicker of sensation across the face hovering over his, Tony’s lascivious grin turning into a little ‘o’ in the half-light._

_Thick lashes, soft eyes, red, wet mouth._

_Fully seated, Tony leaned in, mouthing at his eyes, the side of his nose, his lip, his chin, kissing along the edge of the beard he’d recently trimmed into shape. His breath was hot and open and visceral, the warmth of it stoking the anticipation coiled in his gut._

_Sometimes it was rough, sometimes not. Sometimes it was taut and hurried, sometimes not. Sometimes it was sober, sometimes not. Tony was a gentle lover in this capacity, worshipping every inch of flesh within his reach, murmuring ridiculous soft things into Ty’s hair as they moved together._

_He was careful in a way Ty sometimes forgot to be._

_Ty preferred it harder, faster, edged in an entirely different kind of need. Tony like this was – it was –_

_One of his hands, unbidden, came up to tangle in Tony’s hair as they began to move together in earnest. It was long, now, long enough to knot through his knuckles. He tightened his grip, tipped his head back and gasped, inhaling sweat and aftershave and Tony, Tony, Tony._

_His panting mouth worked blindly against the thrumming carotid above as Tony groaned, voice rich in the dark. “You’re so good to me, Ty.”_

_“Always,” Ty tried to laugh, but his throat was too tight for breath._


End file.
